


Sheets, Harm, and Honesty

by Cinder7storm4



Series: How can I trust you? [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinder7storm4/pseuds/Cinder7storm4
Summary: Stiles gets honest. John knows that some hurts don't leave scars.





	Sheets, Harm, and Honesty

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

The more they talked the more John was reminded of the similarities between himself and his son. 

Their curiosity.

Their intensity.

Their drive.

The more Stiles talked the calmer he looked. The more he listened the better John felt. 

“I’d like to fix a time to talk to you, Derek, and... Peter. If you don’t mind,” John told Stiles after his son had outlined the six possible creatures he thought Lydia Martin might be. By the end of the conversation, Stiles had narrowed his six ideas down to three with input from his dad.

“Yeah, of course, but...”

“Yes?”

Stiles was still so unused to being believed and included like an equal that he wasn’t sure why his dad wanted him when he spoke with the Hales. 

“Never mind.”

“I want you there a) because you’re going to get involved anyway and so you need the facts and b) so that I don’t shoot Peter.”

“Oh, okay, sounds good.”

John grinned at his kid. Damn, he had so much work to do to make this right. 

Later that night:

Stiles headed up to his room after dinner and a movie with his dad, something they hadn’t done in at least 8 years. He felt, no exactly happy, but content. He’d been allowed this day, where his dad knew what he’d been up to and still loved him. As Stiles looked at himself in his bathroom mirror he smiled and spoke aloud to himself, “Even if it all ends tomorrow I’m glad we got today.” 

What he didn’t know was that his dad heard him. John had come in to bring Stiles some fresh sheets from the hall closet, and had to stop himself from tearing at his hair in frustration. The Sheriff has known it wouldn’t happen easily or quickly, and Stiles would never say a word again if he knew how much his dad was hurting but god, John just wanted his son to feel safe and loved. 

Softly, he crept out of the room, sheets in hand and waited in the hall until he could hear Stiles puttering around. He knocked lightly then pushed open the door, sheets in hand when he saw Stiles already in the midst of switching out his sheets. “Great minds and all,” quipped Stiles as he took the sheets from his dad’s hands and put them on his desk. 

John noted that Stiles had changed the bandages on his arms. Stiles noticed where his dad was looking, and without missing a beat grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on. “They’re just scratches, Dad. I know how to deal with stuff like that…”

Both of them winced at the other implications of Stiles’ words, “Dad, I meant running with wolves I’ve gotten really good at patching myself up.”

“But that’s not all you meant, is it Mica?” It really wasn’t a question in John’s mind, but he phrased as one anyway. When Stiles didn’t speak John decided to, “I want to reiterate what I told you earlier today. One, you never deserve abuse, in any form. Ever. Two, I don’t care where I am or what I’m doing, if you feel like you need to hurt yourself to get some peace you call me. Do you understand me, Mischief?” He walked over to his son, taking one of his hands, guessing that there were scars on his son’s arms that had been there long before yesterday. 

“I understand,” Stiles whispered, then he swallowed, voice louder, “Dad, it’s not exactly what you’re thinking. I don’t, I never. I don’t cut myself. I… Just sometimes everything is too much and pain helps focus me. I dig my nails into my palm or my arm. It doesn’t scar.”

“Not physically,” whispered John, who was equal parts, relieved, that Stiles was talking about this with him, and terrified, because his son was right, those types of hurts didn’t leave discernible marks. 

“It’s why I keep my hair short,” confessed Stiles, rubbing his hand over his head “I used to pull on it when I got frustrated.”

John reached out to gently cup Stiles’ chin, in his hand, “My words still stand, Mischief.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Stiles sent him a half smile, and the turned to finish making his bed. 

“Goodnight, Mischief. I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddio.”


End file.
